There's another dimension to what they're doing now, one that makes Crowley shudder. Aziraphale's hands frame his face (and the gaze of countless eyes caress his form). Aziraphale's weight presses him down (and his feather brush against scales, enfolding, protective and cherishing and cherished). They're in a false calm now, one made of the need to comfort each other, of affirmation. But they're also bound now in ways they weren't before, which defy description in any language, even the oldest.

It changes everything. And even as Crowley is thrilled and awed by it, it's a little frightening. This goes far beyond being seen or known.

He drags his focus back to Earth, to the five human senses. There's more than enough richness to overwhelm those even without adding in the extradimensional elements.

(Enough to overwhelm the sight of the void?)

Crowley shudders again, his arms frightening around Aziraphale as his tongue snakes in deeper, tasting. He slides his leg up, twines it around Aziraphale's, lifts his hips to rub against him.